Nerdelicious

by Mary Frame

  He leans away far enough to pull out his phone. I told her we should be friends.

  My hands clench in my lap. “Is that what I saw in the parking lot?”

  He nods, and now he’s wary, watchful.

  “Oh.”

  Oh.

  “But.” I swallow against the sand in my mouth. “What does this mean? What about . . . you know . . . I’m still leaving?”

  Shrugs.

  “You don’t care?”

  Types. I care.

  He presses another surprise kiss to my mouth, not as brutal as the last. Tender this time.

  Then he’s typing again. You’re here now.

  “Yeah, but once I’m gone . . . what if you wanted to,” the words have to be forced out, “start something up with Caroline and I’ve ruined your chances?”

  Typing quickly. I don’t like Caroline. I like you.

  “But—”

  He huffs before I can continue my line of thought and then he’s typing again. I never really wanted to be with Caroline.

  Wait. What? “You didn’t?”

  It’s always been you.

  My stomach unknots itself and backflips about forty times.

  He stops typing. Eyes flick to mine. But I didn’t think I had a shot.

  “Then why did you ask me to help you with Caroline?” My voice is quiet and confused. I’m surprised he can hear me over the pounding of the rain.

  I thought you and I could just be friends and she was safer.

  “Safer?” My world is shattered. No, not shattered, transformed, like Doctor Strange transmuting a gun into a swarm of flies.

  She was interested in me. You weren’t. I didn’t have cause to hope until the lake, and then

  He stops typing and we lock eyes. He shrugs.

  My mind plays over our time at the lake. The hot decadence on the beach followed by my own insistence that we remain friends. I rejected him, just like he thought I would.

  “I’m still not safer.”

  I’ve decided to live dangerously.

  A surprised laugh startles out of me. “I guess I’ve been playing it safe, too. But I like you. I think I’ve liked you from the beginning and I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Because I can’t repeat the same mistakes I made with Jack.”

  I don’t want you to give up anything for me. I’m not Jack.

  “I know you’re not.” Even though part of me wishes he would ask me to give it up for him. But he’s right, he’s not Jack. He wouldn’t ask it of me, and I won’t do it. And I can’t be the Jack in his life. I can’t ask him to give up Grace and Jude, his life in Blue Falls for me.

  “So. I guess we’re doing this. Whatever this is.”

  He smiles. A slow grin that moves across his face and takes my breath away.

  I lift a hand, wanting to touch the pleasure revealing itself on his face. Before my fingers make contact, he grabs my wrist, turning his head to set a kiss on my palm. The move is affectionate and arousing. There’s still a trace of a smile on his face when I lean forward and capture the hint of joy, this time with my mouth.

  He doesn’t stop me and we spend endless minutes exploring each other with lips, tongues, fingertips.

  When I straddle his thighs, dipping to avoid knocking my head on the ceiling, I praise the powers that be for creating bench seats. His arms surround me, and I’m wrapped up in him, content and secure. His hands tug through my hair, pulling out the ponytail, sending my hair cascading around us and cradling my head in his hands while we kiss and play, tender and turned on all at the same time.

  Throbbing desire weaves its spell around us, expanding like a thick cloud. I pull back before we can get sucked in too far.

  “Will you tell me your real name?”

  He spells it out with his hand. G-E-O-R-G-E.

  “George?” I laugh, meeting his gaze. “That’s—wait, no.” I gasp, clutching at his hand.

  He tugs on a strand of my hair, eyes worried, then lifts his hands in a what? gesture.

  “That makes us Fred and George.”

  He tilts his head, eyes narrowed.

  “We’re basically the Weasley twins.”

  His eyes widen and then his mouth is twitching.

  “Okay, no. We can’t make out now.” I slap his arms in frustration. “They’re brothers. This is all wrong.”

  His head drops to my shoulders. He’s shaking. I put a hand on him. “George? Are you . . . laughing?”

  A discordant rumble emerges from his throat.

  “You are laughing!” I accuse.

  His head lifts, his smile wider than the Texas sky.

  “You have a dimple.” I touch his cheek with the tip of my finger. His smile gets somehow bigger.

  “It’s huge. But of course it is, it has to match the rest of you. I bet I could stick my fist in that thing.”

  He’s laughing again, a strange, rusty hum, and it makes me laugh, too, and then his hands are on my shoulders and he’s capturing my laugh inside of his.

  And just like every time we’ve kissed, my whole body ignites with restless need, yearning for more. And the affliction must get Beast, too, because our mouths crash together with ever-increasing aggression. It’s like a competitive sport to see who can kiss who with more enthusiasm.

  But he never attempts to push it further.

  When I reach for his zipper, he brings the kiss to an end, pecking me one last time before leaning back slightly. His lips are swollen and his eyes are hooded with unmet desire.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  He holds up a finger and reaches for his phone, which has fallen onto the floor. I have to hold on to his shoulders while he leans over and stretches to search. Settling my head closer, I nibble his neck a little. He shivers and comes back with his phone. I straighten, moving back to give him room but my head hits the ceiling. He helps shift me off his lap, then tugs me against his side.

  I want to make sure we’re exclusive. You can’t be teaching anyone else how to kiss.

  “I’m not the one with a cute blonde vying for my attention at Bodean’s every night,” I grumble.

  He smiles.

  I halfheartedly hit him in the shoulder. “It’s not funny.”

  So I’m your boyfriend now?

  “I . . . yes? Is that what you want?”

  He nods.

  I bite my lip. Grace isn’t going to be happy about this. “Are we telling the others? Granny? Grace?”

  Why wouldn’t we?

  “Grace told me to not get involved with you.”

  He nods again, unsurprised. She’s worried about you leaving.

  “Yeah, she loves you. She’s protecting your heart.” I put my hand on his chest, just to feel the warmth and strength and beat of it under my fingers.

  He shakes his head no.

  “No?”

  He types. She might be worried about me, but she will hurt when you leave, too.

  “Ouch,” I say. I haven’t even considered how Grace might feel about my departure. “I don’t want to hurt her. Or you or anyone.”

  Sometimes it can’t be helped. Life is pain, highness.

  I smile at that. “Nice reference.” I lean back, needing more than a few inches of space to process this conversation. The thought of leaving is akin to gripping the sharp edge of a blade on purpose. A self-inflicted wound not easily managed. And it’s only going to get worse.

  Beast runs a finger down my cheek, then holds up his phone.

  It won’t be goodbye. It will be see you later.

  “I hope so.”

  A light caress of his fingers down my arm to my hands, then he links one hand with mine.

  “Are you sure you want to do this with me? Since I’m not a safe bet?”

  You’re worth it.

  Our eyes lock and everything in me melts into something warm and miraculous. How can he believe in me when I don’t even believe in myself? Jack didn’t. Even my parents don’t, not really.

  I grip his hand tighter.
“I wish I could be as brave as you are.”

  I’m not brave.

  “Oh, yes you are. Look at everything you do. You take care of everyone. You go to school, despite not being able to talk. You’ve protected Grace her whole life, taken care of her and Jude, and moved wherever they needed to go. You asked me for help. That took courage. You’re here now, with me, despite the fact that I’m leaving. You might be scared, but you do it anyway. That is true bravery.”

  He bites his lip, considering me for a moment before typing again. Granny has been taking me to see specialists.

  “That’s a good thing.”

  You don’t think it makes me unstable?

  “What? No. Why would you . . .”

  He’s still typing.

  I’m seeing a speech therapist, but also a psychologist. His eyes search mine, like he’s worried I’m going to think he’s not in his right mind.

  Something warm melts inside me. “Uh, Beast. I’ve seen a therapist. Many times. Literally everyone I know has gone at one point or another, and most go regularly. There’s nothing wrong with working on being the best version of yourself. And sometimes that means talking to someone who can listen and advise without judgment.”

  I haven’t spoken in so long, my muscles have forgotten how. But the problem is beyond that. I have to fix my mind.

  My hand tenses around his again. How could he think such a thing? “There’s nothing wrong with your mind. You aren’t broken. I think you’re perfect just as you are. Even if you never spoke again, Beast, you would still be—” I cut myself off. Everything. He could be everything. But I can’t say that, I can’t even think it.

  He doesn’t push me to keep my train of thought going. Instead, he quirks a lip at me and then he traces his thumb over my collarbone, rubbing my skin for a moment, like he needs the contact as much as I do, and then types again.

  Every time I try to talk, a lump fills my throat and it’s like I can’t breathe. The muscles don’t matter until I can get through that wall.

  I lean into him, pressing my head to his chest. The steady beat of his heart is a soothing rhythm in my ear while we both watch his phone. “I get it. And I know you can do this, if you want. I will be here to support you in any way you need. And you don’t have to tell me everything.”

  Why did you go?

  I know what he’s asking without him having to clarify. “Anxiety, mostly. It can be hard for me to talk to people I don’t know, or be in situations where I don’t know what to expect.”

  He blinks, surprised. But you’re so

  He stops typing, lifts his head, shrugs, types again.

  you.

  “Yeah, now. I used to take medication for my anxiety. It was really bad, especially if I had to do public speaking, or anything with a lot of people. I’d freeze up, have a panic attack, it was awful. But with the help of a therapist I was able to figure out ways to manage it. I still get nervous in large crowds sometimes, but now I can recognize the signs and do things to calm myself. Take deep breaths, take time out, confront what’s making me anxious, and try to break it down into manageable chunks.”

  He nods, watching me with those intense dark eyes, like he’s memorizing my words, letting them seep into his bones. The ever-present tension gripping his shoulders slips away as I talk.

  “Going to Comic-Con helped, too. Maybe because I wasn’t the only geek in the room. And with fandoms . . . they make you feel like you aren’t alone, you know? You’re surrounded by people who aren’t afraid to talk about how much they love things, nerdy things. It gives you this connection, without shame or embarrassment. If only we could all bond on such a level. The world would be a happier place.”

  We talk longer. I tell him about the first time my dad brought me to Comic-Con and I convinced him to dress up like Hawkeye. He tells me some funny stories about Jude’s parties, but he doesn’t dive into his past, and I don’t push him. We share innocent touches and conversation until I’m hoarse.

  “We should probably get home. The sun will be rising soon.”

  We disentangle our limbs and Beast starts the truck. Before he puts it in gear, he reaches over and tugs me closer, pulling me into the middle of the bench seat.

  “The porch light is on,” I say as we’re approaching. The figure on the porch comes into focus.

  Granny.

  “Uh-oh.”

  She’s sitting on the porch swing with a rifle lying across her lap.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Speak to her

  Speak, man!

  * * *

  Through my nose? She might laugh at me;

  That is the one thing in this world I fear!

  –Cyrano de Bergerac

  * * *

  “Hey, Granny,” I call out as we’re exiting the truck. “It’s a bit late to be shooting at rabbits.”

  “I’m not looking for rabbits. Looking for something a little bigger.”

  Beast, ever the protector, steps in front of me and blocks me from Granny’s view.

  “Oh, hells bells, Beast, I’m not gonna shoot either of you. This is just a warning. This here is a Christian household and there will be no shenanigans under my roof until there are rings on those fingers.”

  I lean around Beast to eye Granny. “Why would you think—”

  “Don’t even try to hide the truth. I’ve got eyes in the back of my skull and a few up in the clouds. I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday.”

  Beast glances down at me and shrugs.

  “We promise to be good. Can we come in now? Not at gunpoint?”

  She stands up, pointing the rifle at the ground. “It’s fine. Beast, you best be sleeping downstairs, and Fred girl, you better not leave your room until that sun comes up or you’ll both be answering to Betsy.”

  Betsy must be the rifle. “We promise.”

  Beast’s hand slides into mine as Granny stalks inside, muttering something under her breath.

  When she disappears from view, he leans down, sneaking a quick kiss.

  “Jesus should fit between you!” Granny yells and we leap apart.

  We gape at each other, wide-eyed, and then I slap my hand over my mouth to smother the laughter.

  It’s early afternoon when I finally wake up from the deepest slumber ever and stumble downstairs for coffee.

  “Oh, luscious bringer of life,” I whisper to the coffee pot, which miraculously contains a full carafe of delectable, mouthwatering brew.

  “You’re welcome,” Granny says, walking into the kitchen and standing next to me.

  Grabbing a mug from the cupboard, I pour myself a cup and face her, leaning my butt against the counter. “Thanks, you.” I lift my mug in cheers and take a careful sip.

  “What’s going on with you and the big fella?”

  “Cutting straight to the point, I see.”

  She lifts her brows, unimpressed.

  “Is he here?”

  “He left earlier, had an appointment in town. Answer the question, Fred girl.”

  I take another sip before responding. “I like him. We’re . . . together.” I shrug, not sure how to explain it when I can’t quite wrap my own head around it.

  “You’re not staying here.”

  My heart jumps and I stand up straight. “Are you kicking me out?”

  She rolls her eyes and moves closer. “Don’t be slow, girl. That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean you have plans. You aren’t staying in Blue Falls. Beast belongs here.”

  And I don’t. “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  “It’s nothing, Granny.”

  “I reckon it’s more than nothing. You have a good heart. It’s already bruised. I’d hate to see it torn.”

  I put the coffee down on the counter. I can’t do anything but nod due to the massive lump in my throat. It’s too late.

  It’s like she hears the words anyway. She hugs me, surrounding me with the smell of Chanel No. 5 and pipe tobacco. Surprisingly, not a bad combo
.

  “You’re not in trouble. I’m not mad at you.” She pulls back, keeping one hand on each of my shoulders. “Can’t say I blame you either. That boy is mighty fine. If only I was ten years younger.”

  A surprised laugh barks out of me. “Ten years younger?”

  “That’s what I said.” She steps back, hands on her hips, squinting at me. “Ten years. Did I stutter? Lost your hearing?”

  Through sheer force of will I keep my face blank. “Right, right. Ten years.” I salute. “I hear you.”

  “Will you clean out the shed today? I think there’s an old bicycle in there. I want to get it fixed up for Grace as a surprise.”

  “Oh, cool. Yeah, absolutely.”

  Granny leaves for parts unknown and I’ve only had a few more sips of coffee when Grace bounces in.

  “You got an email. I think it’s from that interview on Monday.” She puts the laptop on the counter.

  Too soon. It’s gotta be bad news. “Are you hacking my emails again?”

  “It’s not hacking when your password for everything is ‘I love Jensen Ackles.’ ” She sighs and rolls her eyes.

  “I use numbers and characters, too.” I stare at the laptop on the counter, not quite ready to open it. My stomach swirls with nerves. “Well? What did the email say?”

  She disappears behind an open cabinet, rooting for snacks. “I didn’t read it. I just saw the sender and subject. I’m not a monster.”

  “The truth of that statement has yet to be determined.” I bite my lip. I want to read it, but I know the odds of receiving good news are slim to none. My interview was terrible. My major qualification is being a giant nerd who also loves food but struggles with simple conversation. I want this job, it’s perfect. But if I get it, it will likely mean leaving Blue Falls within the next couple of weeks and Beast . . .

  I shove the thought away. I’ve got a month or less, either way.

  I stare at the laptop, closed on the countertop, mocking me with its sleek simplicity. “Maybe I’ll read it after my chores.”

  “Don’t be a big baby.” Leaving the cabinet door open, she walks across the kitchen to the fridge and peers inside.

  I can’t believe I’m caving to pressure from a semi-adult who doesn’t even know how to close cabinet doors or take less than three hours to shower. But I am.